


more shatter on top of what is already broken

by formerly_known_as___REDACTED



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Adult!Boris, American Reader, Complete, Experimental Style, F/M, Female Reader, Graphic Description, Hook-Up, Intoxication, Marijuana, My First Work in This Fandom, Nostalgia, Outdoor Sex, POV Second Person, Poetic, Pool Sex (Sort Of), Present Tense, Reader Has A Past (tm), Reader and Boris are Both High AF, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Stoned Sex, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formerly_known_as___REDACTED/pseuds/formerly_known_as___REDACTED
Summary: is no one’s neighborhood either---his cold fingers steer your face---all belongs to banks now
Relationships: Boris Pavlikovsky/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 8





	more shatter on top of what is already broken

The last breath is a note. Too big, scratching at the back wall of you, a throat too raw to hold back. 

But it comes out in waves, big bursts. Laughter. He laughs too, begs another hit and you’re so obliging you’d take it even from a fist, yes you’re that far gone but to be fair it’s easy when you’re harbored like this: your mind on parole, knees too light for this earth, toes bouncy, ribs a-shimmy. A single glance up says it’s too late, the sky's spinning. 

Your eyes clouded by glitter. 

Dancing motes of gold 

& you couldn't remember---but you will, beyond the horizon of hours is a whole stack of tomorrows waiting---maybe it was at work, slinging cocktails for tips, dodging meaty hands and boozed-up begging, a simmering whiskey rage the constant undertow beneath a hollow-eyed clang of disgorging slot machines but maybe it was the all-night buffet with endless glasses of diet coke because coffee hurt your stomach but after a long shift you still needed caffeine to pry your eyes open for the drive

You breathe in dust and exhaust and old heat but your hips are still laughing. Giggling way ahead, rocking your keel from side to side, they’re impatient for your thighs to catch up. Your tits turn into sails, your nose a rudder while your mouth takes on the thought of water--- _in place like this, it’s true, you smell water from up to a mile away_

Because in a high desert, there’s plenty of time to dwell on it. 

To yearn for wet

& from God knows where, there he was, ready to remake the rest of your night in his image: a thin rain man, this shipwreck with his dancing ivory fingers and cultivated anemia, leaning in too close and needing to know if you knew the secret of water in the desert. Weaponizing a sulk-cornered mouth gone soft and blowsy, lurid as a painted rose; lips gone deep and glossy with the insistence that all flowers, in order to bloom, must succumb to a little bit of death

He mouths the pipe, grins. Traps it--- _click!_ \---in the gleaming gate of his teeth. Laughs. Flicks a flame to life, his lips quivering tight around the little glass neck.

With a deep pull all that’s left is resin

& the accent was the trap, thick enough to lick, sparking hot a flashing urge to plunge your tongue deep into its grassy bitter caramel taste; sticky and good, his words hit you like a sugar rush: _even fountain water, yes, it does not need to be so elegant as a rain for this to be so_. A dark honey that picked all your locks and spread you open. Cradled your breath, made you so soft

He flings the pipe off the road. _Smash_. 

A thought of the dark stucco house, its owners, forms and his face hovers over you, drifts down, slices into an orange flare of streetlight. He muffles your struggling lips with his smoky mouth, licks the words right out of your blasting exhale and tells your teeth _is no one’s home, is no one’s neighborhood either_ \---his cold fingers steer your face--- _all belongs to banks now_ \---until you’re chest-to-chest, two overworked pairs of lungs pushing the same breath back and forth--- _doesn't matter, just more shatter on top of what’s already broken_

& each time he chuckled in the backseat of the taxi it got low and throaty and growly until he smothered the soft puff of his breath in the curve of your neck and the muscles keeping your legs together popped and strummed and jittered and hummed

_\---hit me_

White knuckles break your sound barrier. Sparks explode. The ungainly cry that shoots out of you guides him back to tender, brings soft trembling fingertips across the throb at the corner of your mouth but the freight of kush in your blood s s l l l l o o o o o o w w w s the rush way down. Heat and pressure and throb and buzz arrive one by one by one by one until there’s sting, grit and grind, a rumble of muscular thunder, a dizzy lifting _mmmm you have blood on your breath my beauty_

& it tastes like

1\. a licked penny  
2\. lightning  
3\. that guy who flicked cigarette ashes into your mouth---it wasn’t the ashes but the fingers, grease-rimmed and yellow as jaundice, cracked, flaked, all but dust on the tips, landing like hot little meteorites on your tongue  
4\. an accidental period  
5\. that time you held a bullet between your teeth so your brother’s friend could watch your tongue quiver against the tip while he jerked off  
6\. too much wine bouncing back up at 3 a.m.  
7\. little you wrapped up tight in the pacific, the sky so hot and so blazing hard blue that when you squinted at high summer you forgot where you were and choked on a sudden green mouthful

He swabs your bottom lip with the side of a thumb those big black belladonna eyes gone all lustrous and he licks---your gaze flutters, fastens to the slow curl of his tongue your breath wild in your mouth ribs clanging dumb heart muscle kicking

He studies your face. Licks his blowsy lips. Lowers his eyelids. Murmurs _even your blood is sweet_

_\---what else would you do_

_\---anything you want_

_\---kill me even_

_\---oh no_ his head shakes his mouth splits into a huge weathered-tooth grin _you are much too beautiful for that_

Like a small boy. A child. Mouth formed in a shape of innocence, eyes wide yet soft, there’s a trembling. He comes closer, kisses your cheek. Kind and lingering, a long wind blows through you and your skin chimes a bittersweet note. The hum of it burrows deep. This weak press of such full lips, his immense restraint, gone sticky as fruit. It disrupts your breath. Rattles your hips. Soft sparks cascade down your spine

& you close your eyes

He puts the complete landscape of his face against your skin, commits the weight of it. Breathes. Nuzzles. Coaxes your hips back into place, murmurs a thing---he casts words in another language, his breath full of a wet that’s startling amid such high-desert drought. It clings to the hollow in your temple, evidence of a body’s business. The salt in you yearns for the crash of high tide, for agitation, but there’s only breath. In and out. Over and over. Waves

_\---Boris_

_\---yes beauty_

You show his fingers what you’ve got, what your own body’s got up to while you were busy counting breaths and forming almost-kisses; you pull up your skirt and it’s too dark out here to be embarrassed. Tangled in spastic lighting, backdropped by an ever-cheapening sense of blue, you’re the one who steers. Pushes his dazed and reorienting hand past dampened panties. Dunks his fingertips. He gasps, giggles at the exuberance of your brimming

_\---can you smell that_

He groans

_\---can you smell my water_

His wrist-cords twang inside the circle of your fingers _\---fuck_

You cram slippery knuckles up past your clench like you’re reopening a wound

_\---well can you_

Breath shears out of him in short fevered blasts _\---god yes_

& he knows how to work a pussy, of course he does, the lean of his shoulders told you so, the twitch in his mouth, his bold gaze, the curtain-lift of his smile; his greedy fingers twist inside your tight little pocket, finger-pads gone all velvet, seeking the pinnacle of your throbbing and the way it swells up toward your surface

_\---is good_

_\--- fuckyes_

_\---how good_

He’s got his forehead on yours, his teeth bared, his breath roughened, your clit trapped in a vortex of slow soft pressure. One slick fingertip shoves your muscles to trembling, plunges your mind into dim fuck-twilight, unravels each breath while it’s still in your throat and

_\---you sing like little bird, yes_

You grip his shoulders, struggle to muzzle your rhythmic whining

_\---but does this little bird know how to beg_

Your knees wobble and spin, threaten to crash over

He chuckles _\---will you come like this then_

 _\---I can’t_ gasping _I’ll fall_ stammering _my legs won’t hold_

& you don’t remember your eyes shutting but inside a heavy darkness he’s got your feet up off the ground. Gravity bounces like he’s in a stride a buttock held in each hand the ground giving too much. His walking full of sway, a dance. His feet grapple with the ground. You cling.

_\---Boris what_

_\---I fuck you now_

but it’s half-whisper and a pinch of grit, a humming tension laid bare with tenderness 

_\---is what you want, yes_

Your nose fills with the fingerprint of water, a ghost of chlorine past. You open your eyes. Look up. The ground is over your head, dust brimming at a tiled edge. A frame around the raw black sky. 

_\---do you want me_

You look down on him and under the full moon he is a painting, a saint: wild hair spinning streetlight into a ragged ring of divine grace, unmoored eyes whispering of water, long curves of cheekbone dusted with stars. His waiting mouth ripe as one of Michelangelo’s boys 

_\---yes I want you_

Your back hits the concrete wall. Your pussy aches, throbs tight as a bruised fist. His hands are stronger than they look. One knee hooks over the crook in his elbow and the other wraps him, your strained calf muscles jerking and he shimmies your other leg up and over so you’re folded, your spine ramrod straight, feet jutting, his chest heaving into yours, his speeding breath a blade hovering 

_\---put me inside you_

You unzip him and through thin cotton his cock pulses, hot and thick, thickening, swelling hard at the slightest touch. Your fingers find the skin, at the tip where it’s intact, the luxuriant softness of it, a skin so much younger than the rest of the body. With curled fingers, you make it glide. His breathing shudders.

_\---is novelty for American girl yes_

You feel the word YES in your chest, yearn for the unfettered black of his eyes, his flayed-open gaze---it’s like looking into an animal wrecked by the highway, smeared and strung up and down the center line---as his hair hazes your view, ruffled curls tickling, making your cheeks itch. The smell of him is like burying your face into a cat. His skin stinks of sweat and pot smoke, old cigarettes, spilled liquor, indifference. 

You push his cock into your spread-open pussy and its narrow well of wetness skids him down through the convulsing outer throat of your hole. He strangles a little on a breathy high-pitched groan, rams forward, and all of that thick sinks in up to the bone. Your pussy tingles and burns. His belly slaps the breath out of you. 

_\---do you want it_

_\---yes_

He shakes drools a little clenches his jaws his muscles arguing with each other to keep still _\---say it like you want it_

_\---I want it_

He pounds & pounds & pounds _\---say fuck me Boris_

_\---fuck me Boris_

Until there’s just devouring red dizziness and a whole-body clench _\---say it like it’s a prayer to god_

Your body a packed spring of excruciating heat, pleasure of the sharpest gasping vintage, you say fuck me and moan it and writhe and arch your back, bang your head on old dusty pool tile, use your claws, dig up a waiting swell of orgasm redolent with the heady bouquet of storm tides and blood

 _\---pray on my cock you hot little_ [dark but rugged foreign word]

Your whole body pulses like a runaway motorized heart, jitters apart beneath a blinding load of pleasure 

& after---once your collective concussive silence rolls on---he will set you so gentle back onto your feet like you’re something fresh-born & kiss your cheeks and forehead, cradle your face, want your lips; he’ll kiss the tops of your breasts, pinch the nipples, rest his longing face in your cleavage.

but

he will not

let you

watch him

cry

**Author's Note:**

> i've accepted that this is a one-shot & that's okay
> 
> thx everyone for reading. <3


End file.
